


go home

by galaxyeyedrops



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops





	go home

Goro Akechi is born in a white room filled with beeping machinery and hushed whispers. His name is not Akechi then, but some other forgotten collection of syllables that are quickly discarded before he meets Shido, years later, in case they were not forgettable enough.

He cries soon after he's born, gurgles combined with wails, begging for attention. The doctors and nurses quickly move him to a heated pad. Gentle yet impersonal hands wipe him down and cut off his remaining physical connection to his mother.

The woman in question searches, eyes scanning every nook and cranny for a man who has long since left her.

Goro continues to cry, loud but unheard.

 

As he grows up, he learns to stop crying.

Crying doesn't give him more attention. Crying doesn't make him any more wanted.

If anything, it’s the opposite.  Nobody wants a child with _problems_. Nobody wants a child with feelings.

They want him to smile, clean and picture perfect. They want him to laugh away his past like it's a side note, its only significance in how grateful he is to his foster family for saving him from it.

(In the end, it's all the same. Tears or no tears, it’s not him that they want.)

 

As he grows up, Goro trades each pair of plain walls for another. The decorations slowly grow more and more tasteful; the emptiness is a constant. The Featherman figures he cannot afford turn into the Featherman figures he cannot keep. His apartment is clean, vacuum tracks still visible and shelves dust free.

Goro buys scented candles, carefully picking the ones that have _warm_ and _inviting_ on the description.

His landlady compliments him on the lack of noise from his unit.

 

Akira’s attic, if anything, is a contrast. It’s not quite a pigsty but it’s far from being a showroom piece. There are water stains on the walls, cracks interlaced between, all further underlined by layers upon layer of peeling paint.

His shelves are cluttered, there are tracks in the dust where Akira has meticulously arranged and rearranged his trinkets. A plush doll sits next to a decorative plate, imitation food lingering off to the side. There is no rhyme or reason to the placement, no underlying aesthetic.  

Akira moves things around freely, switching them in and out as he does for his teammates in battle.

The shelves, _the whole attic_ , is always packed to the brim every time Goro is there. Not only things but people as well. Makoto, Futaba, and the others don't hesitate to spread themselves across cat hair infested couches and rickety chairs.

Goro watches them from where he's perched behind Akira. Despite the situation, despite the fact that this is their last mission, the Phantom Thieves leave with relatively good cheer, laughing and joking among themselves as they make their way downstairs.

Akira does not see them off, turning to his desk instead. He pushes aside a stack of books, clearing up space for his materials.

 

Now, Goro’s never spent much time in Mementos. His previous missions were hit and runs, more or less. Find the Shadow. Kill the Shadow. Die a bit on the inside. Rinse and repeat.

He's never had the time to really explore the place, given its size. Never really had the time to start stuffing his pockets with dirt off the floor in hopes that it'll be useful _somehow._

Akira, as he's noted before, is different.

Akira picks up garbage and fashions them into tools. In his hands, anything can be useful.

He transforms scrap metal into lockpicks, leftover paper into smokescreens, his future killer into a captive audience.

His hands move quickly, braiding leaves into yarn with efficiency.

“I've never seen you make a tool like that before,” Goro says, breaking the silence.

Akira hums, nodding his head, so Goro tries again.

“What exactly does that one do?”

Akira’s fingers stop moving.

“It's called a Goho-M,” he explains. “It works at sort of an escape route out of palaces.”

“Hmm,” Goro says, tapping his chin. “I'm surprised you don't use those more often.”

Goro himself can think of at least ten different applications for something like that. None of them are very nice.

“Well,” Akira says, idly playing with his bangs. “I don’t want us to be too reliant on things like this. Besides, there's a bit of a time lag so it isn't the best way to escape a collapsing palace.”

“I've always wondered,” he continues, suddenly talkative. “Why it was mostly thread, but Morgana explained it away as a cognition thing.”

“It's a myth,” Goro interjects, breaking Akira off before he could lapse back into silence. “There is a myth about a woman giving the man she loved a roll of string to guide him out of an impossible maze.”

Akira tilts his head towards him and Goro takes this as a sign to continue.

“The woman was the child of a terrible man, a king who demanded that the youth of a nearby city be used as sacrifices for his amusement. During a certain year, she saw a particular sacrifice and well…”

“She fell in love.” Akira finishes, now keenly listening to Goro’s story.

“There was a lot to fall in love with.” Goro admits. “He was handsome and brave, a hero countless future generations would venerate. Yet that that didn't stop the evil king from locking him away and laughing at his misery.”

“One day, the girl approached the hero, offering him a sword and a roll of thread. She told him of a maze, endlessly complex, that her father would throw the sacrifices into. Of a monster, a child of the king’s wife, that he'd watch them be devoured by. The sword would slay the beast, the string would guide him out.”

“He won, I'm guessing?”

“Of course,” Goro replies. “He wouldn't be much of a hero if he didn't.”

Akira leans forward, back hunched. “What happened to the woman?”

“Abandoned.” Goro’s voice turns soft. “He left her while she was sleeping.”

 

The room falls back into silence, Akira motions Goro to sit down on the couch next to him.

He takes his time finishing up his piece, fingers weaving in and out with care, a contrast to the machine-like efficiency from before. It’s a good while until he’s done, each minute punctuated by Morgana’s snoring.

Akira cleans up quickly, separating his leftover materials, placing them in different tiny pouches. And then, to Goro’s surprise, Akira turns to him, handing him the finished product.

“What’s this for?”

Akira smiles, tired yet earnest. “It’s for emergencies. In case you need help getting back home.”

His expression shifts into something more playful. “Just promise me that I won’t be the woman you leave behind.”

 

If Goro could cry, if he had any tears left, he’d be doing so now. His doppelganger lies dead at his feet. The ship shakes. His lungs fill up with fluid. The Phantom Thieves’ footsteps fade away.

Akira’s present pokes out from the back of his suit. His words, Goro’s promise to not leave him behind, resonate in the forefront of his mind.

Goro’s fingers grow number by the second. He grasps the string, a leaf tearing apart under the rough treatment, and _reaches_.


End file.
